


Saint Kosimo's School For Wayward Ultimates

by Espurrito



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Character Death, Original Character(s), Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-02 03:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14535324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espurrito/pseuds/Espurrito
Summary: Whilst traveling to the prestigious Hope's Peak Academy, an accident leaves a selection of sixteen students find themselves with their lives entangled with a mystery beyond comprehension, stranded in a frozen wasteland, their source of shelter being only the Kosimo School For Wayward Ultimates. A paradise of reformation, a place meant for healing, converted into a slaughter zone for an anonymous "Saint" to enjoy. Carol Avery, the newly scouted Juvenile Defense Lawyer, finds herself struggling to discern who is truly a friend or a foe in this unfamiliar place where 'reformation' translates to a rising death toll.





	1. Prologue Part One: Fractured Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This work has been a project I have been looking forward to with a lot of excitement! This is my first formal 'fangan', but I have been writing for about four years. I hope that you enjoy the story laid out before you, and that you decide to stay for the ride! I have a discord server for this story, and here's a link: https://discord.gg/AxVqCYA .

It felt so long ago, yet simultaneously was just like yesterday, the killings of the Kosimo School. I was barely even a woman yet, and Patricia was still not much more than a child. I supposed that after all of these years, that I would get over the events of what happened at that terrible school. But...I reckon that everyone has those dark moments they wish to no longer remember. Magenta has left me as well, left in the way most loyal, good dogs do, closing her eyes one last time as she was in old age, and I still cherish her presence in my life. As my protector, my closest friend, and as my compatriot in this haunting time.

I stop writing for a moment, the pen being placed back into the well as I collect my thoughts, reflecting upon the events of barely twenty years prior. Eighteen years, I am nearly in my forties now, and yet, I still cannot disconnect myself from what happened.

Feeling the memories wash over me, I find that I was brought back to a simpler time, with my sister, Patricia, by my side. Oddly enough, we were selected to head towards Japan, for the sake of having been formally scouted for having remarkable talent at an early age. Patricia, who was only fifteen, was still excited all the same to have been selected out of her theater guild. She was a foley artist-- the function of which I have never really thought of the use for, but it made her happy. She thought that she was finally being recognized as “Conductress of Sounds”, and I was being sought out for being a highly prolific juvenile defense attorney. I suppose that defending that nineteen-year-old from Japan three years ago, the one on trial for the firebombing, was something that truly was special. I had no doubt in my mind that he was guilty, yes, but I certainly felt an obligation all the same to protect him. 

Patricia sat close to me on the plane ride, her smaller hand clasped inside of my own, and her eyes glimmering with excitement. I knew that she must have been truly excited, with her constant fidgeting and humming, because she was completely blind. She was passionate about her occupation with a zeal beyond her years, but she was, all the same here with me. I was not sure what we would encounter in our years of schooling there, but all the same, I was not about to disappoint her. For a moment, I instinctively put my hand out to scratch behind Magenta’s ear, but she wasn’t there, at least not beside me. She was likely in the cargo hold, same with Patricia’s Scarlet Macaw, Tex. Magenta was truly something special, a large white Poodle with more patience for me than I normally would have had for myself. Aside from the flight crew, we were completely alone in the plane. Yet...we still chose to sit side by side.

“Hey, Carrie, how much longer do you think that it’s going to take us to get to that dump?” Patricia’s voice, youthful yet grating, finally spoke up from beside me. She had a lackadaisical grin, and was already tearing into the package of candy cigarettes bought for the plane ride. I loved her, I did, but looking after her was sometimes exhausting.

I was taken by surprise, admittedly, as to why she’d call that foreign place-- that Hope’s Peak Academy-- a dump. I admittedly flinched, becoming almost shy once again. But, I suppose that in order to never be disappointed, you should set your expectations almost six feet under the earth. “I firmly doubt that this place is a dump, Patricia, it’s one of the best schools in the world. You know that it will not be a dump. But...I must be honest, I am already wary of what I’ve heard about the fellow enrollees this year. Have you heard of the makeup artist who towers above everyone? I also have heard that we will be meeting some increasingly peculiar people. What are your first impressions?” I often disliked the idea of being in such a strange place with people whom I had not ever met before, often convincing someone I knew--such as Patricia or even Benjamin, our guardian, to stay close. 

“Eh, I’m not concerned with what those bozos think, I know exactly what I’m coming for and not even some weirdos can change what I know about myself. Plus… I can’t exactly stare at people I can’t see now, eh? I bet I gotcha there, Carol!” She jabbed me in the side with her finger, and for a moment, I hissed in pain, gently smacking her in the side. 

Perhaps if I wasn’t so concerned about these trivial matters, I would have noticed when the turbulence set in, and glancing towards the opened window shade, I could most certainly note that it had began snowing. It was hard to make out the general shape of the ground below, whether we were near a major city, or closer to farmlands. We weren’t fully alone, with a pair of stewardesses assuring us that we would be fine, just that we would have to take an emergency landing. However, before we even could be informed further, I found that Patricia had already passed out, with myself following soon after.

When we had came to, we had experienced the most bizarre thing. We were standing in an icy field, and with almost everyone with us in the plane gone. Oddly enough, our luggage, along with Tex and Magenta, were standing nearby, and I immediately ran with Patricia to collect them. It was absolutely freezing, and I knew that none of us would survive much longer than an hour--we were dressed for more pleasant weather, and Tex was a bird, so he clearly wouldn’t last too long before dying. By squinting, I could faintly make out the outline of a large, sprawling building, darkened in the distance. Taking Patricia’s hand, I began to rasp out something to say.

“Patricia, there’s shelter in the distance! Come quick, we have to go, now.” I let go of her hand, taking a deep breath as I grabbed whatever luggage I could, and ordering Magenta to my heelside. Her fur, already powdery white from birth, began to be dusted in snow. Patricia, who normally had a smart crack to say, gathered her things as well, and took a moment to cover Tex up with her capelet, her first concern to keep the bird safe from the cold. I briefly relaxed from my concern, and smiled at her. She began to trudge with me, taking the sounds my feet made as a cue to follow. 

It felt like forever, getting to the gate, but the sprawling almost-campus gave me an instant sense of relief. I slowly opened the iron-wrought gate, allowing Patricia to follow suit as she shook her head, sending slushy half-melted snow onto me. I was admittedly angered for a moment, but that went away as we made our way indoors, flicking on a switch, which revealed the first guest we would encounter during our time in that place. I hadn’t known better, but that is a clear digression from what mattered.

The boy who stood before us looked nervous, his round, moon-like face creased with age. He couldn’t have been too much older than us, but, as he pushed his glasses up, he lightly wheezed. “Who are you?” He spoke, with wooden, almost distressed breaths. His face advertised fear, and I knew why. I am burned, with most of my face and body bearing scars. I do not mind the stares as much as I did when I was younger, but it does not mean that it hurt any less. He was stout, with tanned skin, and he wore a white button down shirt. His cardigan was orange, and after a moment of pause, Patricia was the first to reply.

“The name’s Patricia fuckin’ Birdland, and this is my sister, Carol. Who are you, wheezy?” Patricia was never really one for tact, but I wished that she was not as brusque, rough, and sometimes...mean spirited. For God’s sake, how unpleasant can one child be? Tex chirped from his perch on her shoulder, and Magenta placed herself between me and this new comer. You never could be too careful, honestly, and I appreciated Magenta’s loyalty in this sense.

“Terrence Ouyang. I didn’t think there’d be others here. Are you also students? I was supposed to go to this school, because I’m really good at making these candies--” He was cut short by Patricia, who was clicking her tongue. One thing that I noticed most about Terrence was that his eyes--which were a deep brown, never really seemed to want to focus on anything, like he had something to hide, or rather, something to fear.

“I, my good man, am a conniseur of sweets, and I demand that you give me one--” She stuck out her hand, and I elbowed her in the ribs. She was being more painfully rude than usual, and I was trying to avoid further confrontation.

“What she means to say,” I interrupt, “Is if you were en route to Hope’s Peak as well. You know, the school meant for the talented people-- I presume that since you mentioned it like this, that you must have a connection.” I personally didn’t think that talent actually existed, that it was a matter of working towards a goal. Becoming a defense lawyer was not a matter of talent, it was a matter of hard work and passion.

“I wasn’t looking out for who I would be spending my time with, I was just looking for when I would be able to get away from where I was headed already. Now...I think I’m going to look for something to eat. Have a nice day.” He sounded uncomfortable as he made eye contact with me, and once again, I couldn’t find much reason to care. He turned around, and he left, and all I could think to do was to find my own exit.

“Geeez, Carrie, you’d think he saw a pair of ghosts from the way he wanted to leave, eh?” Patricia’s goading voice brought me back once again, and I looked at her with pursed lips.

“Maybe so, Pattie. People can honestly be rather weird like that, arent they?” I took her hand once again, and I began to walk through the hall with her. “So far, there seems to be a lot of mirrors in this place, not as though those do us any good.” I tried to joke about the state of our...mutual dislike of mirrors, but I felt as if it made no difference.

“Wow, Carol, that’s kind of a low blow there, huh?” Patricia snorted, carefully sweeping her cane across the carpeted floor, taking more care to not walk into anything. I felt guilty, I must admit, over the fact that part of Patricia’s condition was my fault. I didn’t want this, I never did. 

While we continued to walk, I noticed a shadow looming closer to us, and I was surprised when a girl around our height came out dressed in rather...festive looking clothing. I had never seen someone wear quite as much green before, but then again, looking at Patricia, I’ve never seen someone wear quite as much red, either. She had ginger hair in pigtails, and she had large brown eyes. Her outfit consisted of a green and yellow button down shirt, a green skirt that reached her calves, and on a brown leather lapel, she had an odd heart shaped device.

She moved her hands carefully, with a large smile as she seemed excited to see us. [Hello! My name is Doris! Who are you?] The device on her sash broadcasted the sign language into a spoken language, which I appreciated for Patricia’s sake, and, to a lesser extent, my own. So...this Doris was likely mute, or deaf...or even both. 

“My name is Carol, Doris. Were you also going to the school overseas?” I let go of Patricia as I attempt to pantomime slightly, while Doris put her hand up again. 

[I know what you’re saying, Carol. It’s okay...I think I recognize the girl with you. Her name is Patricia, right? I saw a documentary, I think, about noise production for movies! I can’t hear, but I have learned to lip read, so...just talk normally, don’t go slow, or too fast.] She seemed to have a concerned look on her face as she observed me clearly looking like an idiot.

“Huh, you say you know me, but I don’t remember meeting you--oh. I forgot that I did that lame-ass reel, but thanks, Doris, I guess.” Patricia places her hands on her hips, and I had a feeling that at this point, she was craving a smoke. I didn’t understand how she even got into that, but I found my attention quickly diverted to a crash from behind us. I had this sinking feeling, one that I could not shake, that I should go to check it out.

“Patricia, just stay here, alright? I’ll be right back…” I took my leave from there, running off as I heard Patricia begin to yell from behind me, with Doris trying to comfort her once again. What I was confronted with was certainly unusual, but I couldn’t fully judge, either...


	2. Prologue: Schoolmates of the Hallowed Halls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next group of introductions are made, and Carol already can observe tensions between certain members of her newfound acquaintances. 9/16 characters revealed.

When I was halfway back to the entrance, I witnessed a rather remarkable scene. A small, pudgy boy was dodging punches from a woman larger than both him and I. I was frightened, but the important thing was to control the damage. I had more than enough experience with these sorts of confrontation, and I ran in between them. The boy fell backwards, his chest rising and falling rapidly with panicked breaths, and I could tell that he’d been running. Empty picture frames scaling up an otherwise blank set of walls.

 

“Break this fight up this  _ Instant. _ ” I made my voice firm, and I watched the woman’s face meld from anger to confusion, her fists balling up as I stared up towards her. She had fury in her wide, green eyes, and her body was tense. She huffed, placing her fists to her sides. 

 

“Listen up, hoity-toity, this fucking bastard is no more than a little fucking creep. I caught him trying to peek into the fuckin’ ladies side of the house. It’s separated by gender here, for some reason, and I caught him tryin’ to explore our side.” She huffs, before sticking out her hand. “The name’s Tracy Sterling, and yours is, ‘Princess’?” The way she stood reminded me of a stallion in a sense. Always ready to run off, in a sense.

 

“I see, but that isn’t an excuse to beat anyone! Also, you may call me only Carol.” I hiss, and her stance tenses, clearly showing me that she did not appreciate being ‘scolded’, regardless of whether or not it was warranted.

 

“What the fuck ever, man, just don’t say I didn’t warn you if that creep is a fuckin’ peeping tom on you next.” She curtly turned around, and she stomped her way back up the stairs, and I slowly turned around, kneeling to help the boy up.

 

“Is that true?” I asked him, and he sputtered, taking my hand and slowly standing. 

 

“I was looking around the girl’s side, yeah, but, but it was to just explore this place! It’s so large and winding around here, I got scared of getting lost. By the way, my name is PJ-- or Panchie, it’s what my big brother calls me.” He smoothed down his shirt, and  he seemed to be rattled up still. Once standing, I could really finally get a real glance at him. Panchie had soft, yellow eyes and pale, flushed skin that was topped with freckles. As I observed him moving, he seemed to be a bundle of nervous energy, adjusting his glasses for a moment, before they covered up large, yellow eyes. “Man, a lot of you guys seem to be really testy, huh? Man, I haven’t been able to use the men’s room yet, because there seem to be these people showering, or something, I just know that it’s occupied and they’re taking forever. They can sing pretty nice, though…and I checked one of the rooms, I think that someone must be pretty damn special here, they got a King-Sized bed, and it’s really soft as well!” 

 

Now, the way Panchie said that stuck out to me, at least, it did as I heard a soft yet deeper voice from behind me, likely coming from the dining room. As I turned around, I found myself face to face with a tall individual, with darker skin. I was...primarily taken aback at the person’s state of dress, and how their makeup was, quite frankly, much better than mine ever would be. Oddly enough, their eyes seemed to be closed. Overall, the figure before me seemed to be wearing a royal blue sari, something that I’ve only seen in books or behind museum display cases. They also seemed to be wearing a decent amount of gold jewelry, with chains wrapping around their throat, as well as their arms and chest. The state of their hair, a long, almost silk like thing, left me wondering if it were real.

 

“Oh, and that room doesn’t happen to belong to me, huh? What a shame, where I came from, that’s how I would be treated. But...then again, this isn’t a hotel--especially if...there are such different people coming along in one place, as in...the poorer sort. Have you met that Terrence fellow? He seems to act as if he’s never eaten before…” They continued on, opening their eyes and cutting themselves off short as their gaze settles down towards me. Their eyes, purple as grapes, or even wine, seemed to be tense with confusion. Silence loomed over the three of us as I notice Patricia attracted by the chatter over music, and how her eyes, even plasticine and empty as they were, seemed to shine with excitement. Maybe she knew what some of them were referring to. However...the stranger I had yet to put a name to finally broke the silence. “Ah, dear...take my card, I think that I might be able to help you with those blemishes.”

 

_ Xavier Nagarajan, Freelance Makeup Artist _

_ If I can’t make you look flawless, then no one can. _

_ +91 660 7881867 _

 

As well intended as their words seemed, sugar coated and all, I folded the business card up, and I stared up at them, mouth agape. I couldn’t help but feel a burning indignation towards this ‘Xavier’ now. I slowly raised my right hand, almost stiff and clawlike in its tense state, and I offered it towards them, “My name is Carol, and I am afraid that these ‘blemishes’ you see are permanent. I suppose that I should oblige you by saying that I have no offense to take, though.”

 

They accepted the handshake with a rather nauseous, forced smile. The exchange took a couple of seconds, but given the throng of people gathering amongst us, I slowly let go. 

 

I was fuming, so I turned on my heel, and I turned in towards the kitchen, where I saw two girls, one just a little taller than I was, with a light pink vest and a chocolate brown dress with long sleeves. Her hair appeared to me as a sandy blonde, done up in a high ponytail, and her glasses were a candied pink. The other girl, one with darker skin and hair, seemed to have been given a cup of coffee or perhaps tea, and her dress seemed more proper to one that one of those Disney princesses would wear, beaded and sequined, billowing out far beyond her sides. Suddenly, the taller girl waved me over, a simpering smile on her face. Almost compelled by some sort of command, even if it was subconscious, I walked towards them, gently trying to smile.

 

“Good morning, ladies! I was actually curious, well, as I seem to be meeting an assortment of new people, who you may be. My name is Carol, and I was actually en route to this private school when the plane expected to transport us, well, the engine failed, I suspect.” I was going from furious to nervous, and I suspected that it was almost due to the fact that the girls that I was with at present seemed and looked so kind and generally kinder than the majority of the group I was with.

 

The girl with the sandy blonde hair was the first to speak up, raising her hand as if she was asking a question, “Oooh, my name is Cadbury, but most of my friends and family call me Caddie! I am a pastry chef, and I was actually on my way there, too! Going west was rather interesting, actually, kind of like going back in time!” She looked toward her friend, who was seemingly preoccupied with putting sugar in her tea, and then she finally looked at me.

 

“My name is Helena-Ella Night, and please do not forget it. I suppose if we are sharing talents, I may as well let you know that I am quite damn near royalty, it’s only fair to try and have that sort of respect now, isn’t it? Also, Miss Carol, may I ask you what your talent may be? Little ol’ Caddie here shared hers without a singular question, how about you reciprocate?” She took a gentle sip of her drink, and part of me stood corrected, primarily about how I was already so wrong about this Helena, but Cadbury seemed sweet…

 

“I am a juvenile defense attorney, as in, I defend children and teenagers who are accused of more major crimes, such as arson or murder. You know that such heavy cases can be life-ruining, especially for a reputation.” I was already somehow feeling uncomfortable, and I was surprised when Cadbury offered me a cup of tea, but I took it, carefully and quietly. I rather preferred coffee, but Cadbury once again had that sort of childlike innocence--at least from first glance--that reminded me of myself from when I was much younger, a simpler time indeed. The tea was warm and not too strong, easy to pass along. 

 

She seemed delighted by the acceptance of the gift, and she went to sit beside her companion, before dashing back over to be near the tea, pouring out a cup for a smaller boy who seemed to wear his hair in low pigtails, opening the fridge and taking out  _ mealworms. _ Frankly, I was disgusted until he opened his jacket, revealing several small chickens that he was carrying around. Still perplexed, I cleared my throat, watching him squint at me.

 

“What are you looking at?” He already seemed to be going on the defensive, to which I carefully raised my hand to, and I shook my head.

 

“Nothing, I was just curious about the livestock, Mister…?” I allowed myself to trail off, and he answered promptly.

 

“My name is Cory, and well, I’m a Chicken Breeder, I know that it probably doesn’t seem like the most glamorous job ever, but I enjoy it all the same. There’s a lot more types of chickens than you’d really think there’d be, like, erminette hens, or this beautiful species of chicken called Ayam Cemani--those are all black, from their feathers all the way down to the bone marrow. It’s fascinating how they can be so different, right?” He scattered a few upon the floor, and the four of us watched in silence as the birds began to feed upon the insects. For a moment, I was released from the anxiety around me as I just reflected upon the animals skittering about the kitchen floor.


End file.
